Archive for the ‘Not so true’ Category

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Let it get bigger

March 4, 2015

She remembered fishing the big river with her father, the tiny fish gasping in the air. He released it from the hook, tossed it back. Let it get bigger.

But it was my first catch, she whined.

Love, too, proved slippery as a small fish. She tried every line and net she could, but love escaped her efforts, or was just too small and had to be thrown back.

She heard her father’s words: Let it get bigger. Somewhere, beneath the murky waves, love grew day by day, just waiting for her boat to linger at the surface.

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The now

January 8, 2015

He scrimped and bought a small bunch of chard, some broth, a box of pasta, but it was enough for dinner. He had unearthed a bottle of wine he had stashed away for a special night, and he’d lit a candle to cozy the small room.

Are you more afraid of what might come later? he asked. Or of losing touch with what came before?

She didn’t like to think about either, she admitted finally, but only because she’d had too much wine. I would rather just stay in the now, she said. I like it here very much.

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Fighter of Sleep

November 17, 2014

He fights sleep with furrowed brow, pursed lips turned down. He rages against it, scratching my face and grabbing my hair as if his tight grip will wrest him from the grasp of Nod. But we are learning each other, he and I, and his nightly storms are like those roll in before baseball games in the summer. This is all going to blow over, my friends and I said, driving toward the stadium through thunder and lightning and sheets of water. His storm passes, too, giving way to smooth-faced sleep, his arms relaxed beneath the swaddle.

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Water burn

November 8, 2014

Have you ever seen water burn? he asked, and she shook her head, because everyone knows water doesn’t burn, but, rather, turns to steam, and that was when he struck a match and tossed it toward the lake below, and the flat water lit, making a sound like someone punched in the stomach, and everything she had known to be true evaporated before her eyes.

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Vigilant

November 6, 2014

She had not needed to make the bed the next morning—she’d only laid down for 10 minutes, and even then, not slept. She had nodded off at her post at the window once, losing minutes—maybe even hours—while her head drooped, chin to chest, and her hands finally relaxed.

She wasn’t sure what she waited for, or how it was different than what she’d always wanted, but she knew it was coming. She knew she’d recognize it when it arrived, but she had to be vigilant. She did not want to miss all the good things to come.

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With/without

November 4, 2014

Once they met, he could not fathom a life without her. She seeped like the sun into every corner of the dark room of his heart, warming all the places inside he had once thought too cold to share. She left no room for him to imagine her absence, and so, even as the light in her eyes went dark, he wondered if he could carve out more time with her by stepping outside his clock-bound world. Everything dimmed again once she was gone, and he shivered, feeling the cold creeping back to its old places with each lonely minute that passed.

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Bell pepper

August 30, 2014

That night, she sliced a bell pepper in half, and it opened to reveal a heart-shaped outline. She grew angry, then, tired of seeing love everywhere she looked, when she was trying so hard to keep all her hatred walled off inside her chest. She chopped that half of the pepper into small squares, eradicating what it revealed on the cutting board. Someday, she’d have room in her kitchen for romance again, but at that moment, she just wanted a salad.

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